Despite the emotional conversation at her apartment, all in all, his time with her today had been surprisingly positive. Perhaps she’d forgiven his abrupt exit at lunch last Friday. He hoped so. The more time he spent with her, the more he realized how much he craved her—craved any positive interaction with someone not wearing a police uniform. And it sure didn’t hurt that she was pretty and smelled like happiness.
Since his transfer to Pueblo, until he’d met Ari, his thoughts had focused solely on his mother and siblings—how to protect them and remove them from his father’s dominion. Obsessed. That’s what he’d become. Then again, why wouldn’t he be? He had little to do but work—which, with Pueblo’s low crime rate, wasn’t difficult—and worry for his family.
Living in Denver had been stressful in a whole different way. Work at the station had kept him absorbed in crime fighting, leaving less time to fixate on his family. But he’d been grateful to have a decent paying job—unlike the weeks immediately following his journey into the twenty-first century.
He’d spent the first week after being banished from his family in a daze. Thankfully, he’d stashed food, clothing, and a few other essential supplies in his satchel before being transported to this century, so he had sustenance until he could work things out. And his mother had slipped something in there, too. He’d fished around until his fingers snagged on a small leather pouch. When he opened it, details had become much clearer, at least about the crime his father had committed. His dear mother had somehow gotten her hands on a fistful of diamonds and slipped them into his satchel.
Using the diamonds to live on had been unthinkable. It was blood money. He’d rather die first. After he rescued his family from his father’s clutches, his goal would be to somehow return the diamonds.
Residing on the streets had been surprisingly advantageous. There, in the underbelly of society, he’d been introduced to Denver’s seedier residents. That homeless gang of riffraff—Stewart, Bags and the others—would never know what they had done for him. He smiled at the memories. From them he’d obtained an education as to how to create a new identity and acquire a Social Security number—essential to become employed in America. That’s also when he decided to take his mother’s maiden name, Flemming, as his surname.
He'd scrabbled around Denver until he’d found a group of men standing at a gas station. They’d seemed to be waiting for something. When he’d enquired about what it was they awaited, he was informed that trucks regularly stopped by to collect willing men to do yardwork. Though he’d never maintained a yard before, he’d been willing to give it a try and eagerly joined the group. However, for the most part, these were only weekend tasks—not paying enough to get him off the streets. He then added a job working at a carwash. While the work was regular, he still came up short financially. Finally, after he’d added a night job working at a fast-food restaurant, he’d been able to earn enough money to secure an apartment in lower downtown Denver. Not a prime location, but still better than east London had been.
He’d worked, saved, and observed life in the twenty-first century. Then, when he’d felt ready, entered the police academy.
Life over the last four years had not been boring. But through it all, he’d had one mission—tracking his father’s movements to put him away and save his family. Arianna was a diversion. A beautifully sweet, and wonderfully welcome diversion. Just thinking about her made his pulse race like a horse competing in a steeplechase.
“Flemming,” a crusty voice shook him from his musings.
“Chief?”
A pile of papers landed in front of Christopher. His workday had officially begun with his least favorite task—paperwork.
“There’s been reports of a disturbance in this area.” The police chief pointed to an address on the first page of the small pile. “Rumbling noises. One neighbor called it a sonic boom.” He rolled his eyes.
Christopher perked up. “I’ll look into it, Chief.” He eagerly dug into the pages. Reports of this nature had come periodically in Denver and had often led to the same house—Benjamin Somers’. No one had answered the door when Christopher, or any other officer knocked. Unfortunately, irregular noise complaints didn’t warrant the use of the police department’s resources beyond the initial house call. He knew it was premature to go in, guns blazing, without a plan or evidence of a crime; he just wished to see his mother and siblings and know they were truly safe.
He was certain his father had been using his device to travel back in time, committing more crimes to increase his fortune. Criminals such as his father were never satisfied—the desire for money never fulfilled, the thirst for power never quenched and the urge to spill blood never quelled. Christopher didn’t know how extreme his father’s lust for power and fortune had become, but in his heart, he feared the worst.
His own memories of the machine were hazy, at best. He hadn’t seen it, but he’d never forget the loud vibrations it had caused just before he’d slipped into complete darkness back in London. He’d been vaguely aware of them again as the device landed in twenty-first century Colorado.
He and his partner, Joe, drove to the address from the 911 call. His heart sank. This house, so near the city center, couldn’t possibly have anything to do with his father. It was probably a complaint about noisy kids or something. No. Christopher was certain Father had built the mansion—his family’s future home, Arianna’s current worksite—outside of Pueblo, where no one would be bothered by such noises.
New fear for Ari’s safety prickled his skin. What if the device was at the home already? What if she was there when Father decided to use it? What if he did something to Ari, then transported her to another time? Worry gnawed at him like razor-sharp teeth.
Chapter Eighteen
Ari couldn’t believe she’d lost her composure in front of Christopher. Embarrassing. He’d acted so unfeeling about losing his own father. She wondered what kind of man he had been to warrant such a lack of emotion from his son? Perhaps he’d left his family or had been abusive. She really couldn’t judge. Christopher was nothing like the images she’d conjured of his father. His comforting tenderness toward her had been surprisingly sweet. She wished she had that Christopher to talk to more often.
She set to work, preparing rooms for incoming furniture. After rolling out a spool of vinyl runner to protect the floors, she inhaled and smiled. “Why do I like that smell so much?”
Next, she opened her file to the bubble diagrams she’d created to know exactly where each piece of furniture should be placed. As she finished examining the papers, the doorbell rang. The furniture was here. She opened the door to usher in the workers. Her jaw dropped. Before her stood a delivery person holding, not furniture, but the most beautiful bouquet of yellow roses. She located her purse and dug out a tip, then took the bouquet and retreated to the kitchen to read the note.
The words from Christopher, short and sweet, set her off all over again. “Whatever he is doing to me, I’m not sure my heart can take it.” She breathed in the wonderful fragrance of the long-stemmed roses and pictured his handsome face. A tingle ran down her spine.
****
Christopher arrived at six o’clock to pick her up from the Somers’ house. She spotted his car through the window and motioned for him to come in.
“Thank you so much for the beautiful roses.” She pointed to the table where they were displayed. “Yellow is my favorite color, and they are so fragrant, you can smell them from here.” She closed her eyes and sniffed. “Ah.”
Christopher’s mouth quirked into a grin.
“Do you mind waiting for just a few more minutes while I finish measuring this room?”
“Not at all. Can I help?”
“As a matter of fact, you can.” Ari handed him one end of a tape measure. “Hold this right—”
Just then there was a clang outside. They both jumped at the loud noise.
Before Ari knew what was happening, Christopher had pulled her behind him and
stood in front, ready to protect her.
Ari tapped him on the back. “Christopher?” She stifled a laugh. “I think that was just the landscaper.”
His shoulders relaxed, and he chuckled. “You can never be too careful around a man wielding a garden tool.”
It was funny, but it also made her think. This guy was ready to protect and defend her against whatever evil forces he thought were lurking out there. She couldn’t remember ever dating a man so concerned for her safety.
When they’d driven close enough to the city to receive cell phone service, Ari called the shop where her car had been towed. Optimistic it would be ready, she thought it would be easiest if Christopher just dropped her off there.
She was wrong, the car wasn’t ready. And to make matters worse, it required an expensive part that had to be ordered and wouldn’t arrive until the next week.
“Next week. I can’t wait that long!” Her voice rose. “I’m going to Denver on Friday. I have to have my car.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. This is a small town and we don’t keep many parts in stock. So, unless you’ve got a flat tire, or you need an oil change, chances are we’ll need to order the part from Denver. It will take a few days to get here, then at least a day to install it in your car.”
Disappointed, Ari hung up, then immediately dialed another number. “Maggie, my car’s broken. I can’t come to your baby shower. I’m so—”
Before she finished her sentence, Christopher tugged at her arm.
“Hold on, Mags.” She looked at him and mouthed, “What is it?”
“I’ll take you to Denver.”
“No.” That came out a little harsher than she meant it to. While she would love nothing more than to go to Denver with Christopher, she didn’t think she could take it if she said the wrong thing again and his heart turned to stone, shattering hers. In those situations, he had disappeared immediately. She craved reliability. “I mean; I could never ask you to do that for me. You’ve already done so much. You drove me to and from work, sent me beautiful roses, and even let me mess up your shirt crying on your shoulder. I am becoming a burden to you. No. I’ll just skip the shower; she’ll understand.”
He shook his head. “Ari, please don’t refer to yourself as a burden.” He pulled the phone out of her hand and put it to his ear. “Maggie, this is Ari’s friend, Christopher. Please plan on her attendance at your shower.” He ended the call.
“Thank you, Christopher. You didn’t need to do that.”
“But Arianna, I am more than happy to, so please allow me the honor.”
She reached over and kissed him on the cheek. In return, Christopher gave her a sidelong glance and a crooked grin.
An uneasiness kept her from fully enjoying the moment. She twisted her fingers together nervously. She hoped she wouldn’t regret allowing him to do yet another favor for her. She worried for her fragile heart, as well, as it insisted on constantly ignoring the warning signs. Was Christopher the man for her, or should she be running the other direction—away from him?
Chapter Nineteen
The work week seemed endless—or perhaps it was just Friday that stubbornly held on to daylight. Yes, Friday was definitely the culprit—the cause of Ari’s complete exhaustion, and the reason she’d second-guessed her judgment in deciding to become an interior designer. She could thank Mr. Somers. He’d made Fridays—this Friday, in particular—nearly unbearable. Finally, as the afternoon ended, the dimming rays shining through the windows gave her hope.
Earlier that morning Mr. Somers had exploded at the painters, shouting curse words Ari had never before heard. Perhaps something had happened at his Denver residence to set him off, she didn’t know, but she’d somehow found herself in the center of the storm. The greens weren’t green enough, the creams not creamy enough. Even with Ari’s expert eye, she couldn’t see the difference between his samples and the paint on the wall. Henry, the lead painter, had stormed off the job. The other two had followed. With no cell phone service, Ari didn’t have a way of calling to urge them back. There were other painters in the area, but she’d worked with this crew and knew why they’d been rated number one in the business. She needed them. There was no such thing as second best to Mr. Somers. Immature as it sounded, he threw fits to show who was in charge, leaving her to smooth ruffled feathers.
Thankfully, her morning jogs had made her a fast runner, and she didn’t hesitate to chase their truck. She’d been able to catch up and flag the painters down, since they had been waylaid by putting away their equipment before driving off. It had taken some fast talking and hefty promises to get the men to come around, but she’d done it. Perhaps she should have become a lawyer.
By afternoon, Mr. Somers had found a scratch on his newly-delivered Mahogany desk. Okay, she’d admit it; scratches on furniture of such a high quality were not acceptable. However, she’d watched the furniture movers as they’d taken meticulous care in hauling in the desk. It had required some minor assembling, which she’d also examined. And now there was a scratch on the top left corner. It hadn’t been there before Mr. Somers had gone in and begun unloading his belongings into the desk. While he’d blustered on and on about it, Ari spotted what she believed to be the culprit; an antique, ornate Victorian, brass footed oil lamp. It looked to have been moved from one corner of the desk to the other. Ari had slipped some felt pads from her pocket to apply them to the lamp, lest it do more damage.
“Get your hands of the lamp!” Mr. Somers had yelled. She thought he might burst a blood vessel when she’d touched his precious lamp.
“Fine,” she’d said, handing the pads to him. “But I’m certain the lamp is what scratched the desk, as it wasn’t scratched earlier.” Ari hadn’t known volcanoes existed in Pueblo, Colorado, but now she did. Mr. Somers had erupted like the worst kind of volcano, spewing profanities, and screaming about Ari’s insolence—why wasn’t she home tending to children where she belonged?—and on and on. Arianna left the felt pads on the desk and walked out of the room. Let the man sputter. There was no stopping him when his ego had been threatened.
His visits were generally short, but today he’d never left. Whenever possible, Ari had steered clear of him. She had received a smidgeon of satisfaction when she’d spied him through the open door, attempting to apply the adhesive felt pads to the lamp. Shaking her head, she’d watched while he’d fumbled with every part of the easy task. Why couldn’t he just let her do it?
She looked at her watch, ready for a weekend away. Spending it with Maggie would be just the remedy she needed.
By the time Christopher pulled up to house to pick her up, Arianna stood outside waiting. She couldn’t get out of there fast enough. She needed sleep, and she needed to put some distance between her and the Somers’ home.
“Are you well, Arianna? You look a little pale and tired.” Christopher opened the car door for her.
“I’ll be fine as soon as we’re out of here and on the road. It’s been an exhausting day, that’s all.” She managed a weak smile. “This isn’t your squad car. Did you steal it?” She attempted to lighten the mood she feared might follow her to Denver.
Christopher’s dimples puckered. “No worries; I’ve not turned to a life of crime. This is my friend Joe’s 1967 Chevy Impala. He calls it his baby.” He ran his hand along the refurbished seat. “While the department doesn’t mind me using my squad car in Pueblo, they do frown on taking it out on weekend getaways. Plus, I thought this would be a little more comfortable.”
She gave him a grateful smile. The squad car he had used to shuttle her to and from work all week long had been a lifesaver, since her car still sat at Dave’s Auto shop. But she hadn’t looked forward to spending more than twenty minutes sitting on that stiff seat.
“You’re right.” She sank into the soft leather. “This is nice.”
They drove to Arianna’s apartment first so she could get her travel bag, then grabbed a bite to eat and headed north.
“Shall we list
en to music? Joe said the radio is broken, but he installed a CD player. There are some pretty good CDs in the glove compartment.” He reached across Arianna to open it.
With his head so close to her, Ari had to restrain herself from touching his dark, silky hair. One day she would just run her fingers right through it. She smiled at the thought.
“It seems to be stuck.”
She turned her attention away from his gorgeous head of hair and added her efforts to open the compartment.
No luck.
Christopher gently pulled her arm away from the futile task. “I guess we’ll just talk.” He kept his hand gently clasped around her arm.
Electricity pulsed through her. She didn’t want him to move it—ever—so she scooted closer to him, grateful for the car’s vintage old-school bench seat.
He grinned at her and moved his hand down until it reached her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers.
She suppressed a huge smile that threatened to steal its way across her face.
They kept the conversation light, Ari having learned the hard way of which topics to steer clear. Christopher told her about his day, which hadn’t amounted to much. Crime in Pueblo paled in comparison to Denver.
Ari told Christopher about the chaos at the Somers’ house in general, and about Mr. Somers in particular.
“Mr. Somers was there today?” His happy countenance changed.
“Mr. Somers comes every Friday. He sometimes brings the rest of the family, too, although he does all the criticizing—I mean talking.” Weariness crept back into her bones. “He must have locked the rest of the family away somewhere today. He seems to have them under some kind of spell.”
Christopher appeared to be contemplating something before he spoke. “So, you have met the whole family?”
“Yes, but I could hardly tell you about any of them. They never speak—except when Sarah, their nineteen-year-old, asked me if I’d seen her journal. They seem sad all the time—maybe even frightened. And Mr. Somers rarely says anything kind to them.”
Time Twist Page 9
